Titleless
by Kriiz
Summary: The sequel to Nameless, Titleless is a story about how Prince Marth copes with the loss of his right hand. The deformity pushes the vain prince beyond the brink of insanity. Will ANYONE survive? FINISHED!
1. Default Chapter

Ahh, a grim second part to a grim story. Though it is kinda depressing, there is some Marth/Roy cuteness here. I admit that I feel bad for them, but that won't stop me from abusing them… Even though they're not mine.

Another pleasant morning was dawning above the ever-lively Melee House complex. The cheerful morning sunshine was streaming in through a lone, frosty window. The yellow square of light thrown upon the wall was slowly traveling downward. After several minutes, the light was cast upon one of the two beds in this dorm room and it framed the faces of the two boys sleeping in it.

Ever since Marth's unfortunate run-in with Tomoyuki, Roy was insistent that that the teens should sleep in bed together "for safety's sake." Safety wasn't Roy's only purpose, however. Often, Marth would be treated to a night of mind-numbing pleasure that helped him temporarily forget his physical and mental pains. When the prince awoke in the morning, though, he would always waken to the same living nightmare—the absence of his right hand. 

Marth awoke with a smile on his face and his lover wrapped up in his arms. He felt Roy's soft hair tickling his chest, Roy's warm breath rolling over his bare skin. The Altean didn't move for several minutes; he wanted a few moments to himself this morning. After he'd blinked the sleep out of his eyes, Marth's glossy cerulean oculars studied the bedroom in silence. As always, the room was immaculate. Not an article of clothing was out of place; not a piece of paper was on the floor. The walls were hung with mirrors so that the vain Altean prince could admire himself, though he failed to use the pier glasses anymore. Little else decorated the walls except the teens' swords.

The elegant Falchion and the onerous Sword of Seals hung on the wall like guns on a rack. Their blades were glittering in the morning sun and casting shines on the ceiling and floor. Marth's lightweight sword was perfectly sharpened and finely polished though it had been sitting there for several days. As he looked at it, his heart ached. He knew that he could never use that beautiful sword properly ever again. He couldn't even hold it.

Roy was roused by the abrupt heave of Marth's chest. The towheaded swordsman quickly lifted his head, looking up to his dearest friend. Tears streaked Marth's porcelain cheeks; his eyes were red with tears. He was trying to hide his emotions behind his forearm, but it was impossible. "No, Marth," Roy crooned, "please don't cry." He slid up in bed and wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders, cradling Marth's head against his warm body. "Please, I beg you not to cry. It's breaking my heart."

Marth bitterly sobbed, his tears staining Roy's bare skin. His strong arms, now somewhat weak from the lack of fighting, held his friend tightly. "I can't, I can't!" he whimpered. "It's just eating me alive. Things are never going to be the same anymore."

Roy softly sighed as he brushed the bangs from Marth's eyes and kissed his forehead. He couldn't begin to comprehend his friend's anguish, but he was experiencing his own pain. Marth wouldn't be so depressed if Roy hadn't been so careless. 

Roy had made the same mistake twice. Now, both boys had to face the devastating consequences.

Short. Boring for those action fans out there. Though there won't be much "action" in this part, there will be some drama. None of that "Days of our Lives" shit, but you know what I mean. There's nothing review-worthy here, I know.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two! Slightly more interesting. There be gore at the end, but not much. I'm not in my masochistical place right now.

Some thank-yous for my reviews on the first chapter. I honestly didn't expect any since I don't get many to begin with. Thanks to Author-Dude for liking my start, 'twas very kind of you to leave a review on such an insignificant chapter. Thanks to Moiras for her kind review and I'm very glad that you enjoy my plot! Like I said, I really hope you continue your own story with part two. I'm continuing with my part two and finishing with part three regardless of the story's popularity. It'd just bother me if I didn't finish it. And of course my biggest thank you to Thais! You've been a really nice friend ever since I've met you and I really hope you enjoy this story, 'cause I do believe I should dedicate "Titleless" to the friend whose encouragement has kept me writing: you! 

On with the chapter.

Once he was sure that Marth was going to be okay, Roy left his friend in their room and suited up for the morning Melees. Although Marth was unable to battle anymore, Roy was still an able-bodied warrior. He had argued with Marth over the issue for the past several weeks, but the disabled swordsman was firm. "There isn't any reason why you shouldn't be out there fighting," Marth explained. "That's what you came here to do and that's what I want to see you doing. Now go!" Marth's stern words echoed in Roy's head as he trudged down the hall towards the infamous waiting room.

Someone had jokingly taped a paper sign on the door that read "Hell's Waiting Room" and this sign had never been taken down. In reality, that's just what it was. The grim humor of this appellation failed to draw the usual determined smirk across Roy's lips as he pushed the heavy door open. Inside the waiting room sat the few warriors who hadn't yet claimed a field: Bowser, Captain Falcon, Donkey Kong, and Pichu.

"You can't be on a team battle against us, Pichu, you're just to small!" Donkey Kong was struggling to reason with the obstinate little rat who was screeching and pleading to be allowed to fight against them. Bowser growled in annoyance. "It would hardly be a challenge. I've eaten apples bigger than you, Pokemon! Now sit down before I give you something to cry about." In response to the threat, the dejected little Pokemon wiped away his tears as he waddled back to his seat.

"Now, this!" A grinning Captain Falcon limped over to Roy and put an arm around his shoulders. "This is a challenge for us, boys!" Roy cringed at the racer's touch and shrank away from him. "Me on all three of you at once? I don't know guys, I haven't been out there in weeks." "Aw, come on!" Donkey Kong was on Roy's other side to block his retreat, grinning up to him with all his rounded teeth. "We need someone to squash out there and you're the perfect candidate! Everyone else, even the doctor, is already out there." Roy opened his mouth to argue but Bowser cut in, pulling him toward the entrance to the Final Destination stage. "Come on, I know you want to! What do you say?" The young swordsman sighed in defeat as he looked to the three eager warriors around him – and to the whimpering Pokemon sitting by the TV.

"All right, all right! I'll do it."

--

The match was pretty much over before it even started. Roy was an excellent warrior but he stood little chance against two heavyweights and one speed demon, especially since he was out of practice. Five grueling minutes later, the three victors and their victim were transported to the deserted infirmary. They patted Roy on the back and congratulated him on a match well-fought. Roy nodded to their compliments and, after they left, he dragged himself to an infirmary bed to await the arrival of the good doctor. He had a few cuts to be mended.

Roy's tired lavender eyes were fixed on the field monitors in the infirmary. The volume was turned low, but he could barely discern some of the pained grunts of his friends. The swordsman sighed as he turned his tired gaze away. It was all pointless to him now. All these meaningless battles were just disgusting. These creatures that had been bred and brainwashed to fight and kill now had no more meaning to their existences because their adventures had long since ended. Instead of attempting to lead normal lives, they rather mercilessly slaughter each other, all for fun. It was repulsive. It was despicable. It was wrong. It was…

Roy's thoughts were interrupted when he felt something wet dripping on his head. He sighed and reached up to brush the damp feeling away. He sat in silence as a second and a third drip landed in his hair. "_Someone really needs to fix these leaky ceilings!_" It was starting to annoy him and he vigorously rubbed the cold feeling out of his hair. He pulled back his hand to idly examine it, and he froze when he found thick red fluid smeared over his palm.

Roy remained very calm as he slowly lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. He was so desensitized to violence by now that he wasn't even shocked by the scene that met his gaze. He couldn't tell who or what it had once been, but there was a small dead body pinned to the ceiling with surgical scissors and scalpels. To him, it looked like the little body had been turned inside out. All he could discern from the mess was bones and innards and the bloody underside of a pelt of yellow fur. The body was intact, miraculously, as though someone had merely reached down the creature's throat and pulled its legs out of its mouth. There was just one thing missing on the little corpse:

A right hand.

Ooh, mysterious! You think you know who did it, but remember: you never know what kinda tricks the author is gonna pull. Review to help heal my battered ego.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter, what is this, three? AIE, WHAT A BORING SECOND PART. I'm honestly starting to lose my purpose here. o.o I completely forget where I'm going with this story. I guess that all depends on how this part turns out…

A thank you to the grand total of three people who have reviewed. I always wait for three reviews 'fore I continue with my chapters… To Morias, I personally think that my descriptions are inadequate. e.e But then I remember that this isn't an English paper and I'm like, "I'll go easy on them." I do love your story to death and I respect the author's wishes with ending it there… n.n But I want to see more! To Turquoise fox, thanks for clearing that up. Moral of the story: never listen to me about anything, whatever I say is probably just hearsay. And, to Thais (and Culumon), thanks so much for reading! Enjoy chapter three, everyone.

Roy's heart was in his throat as he ran through the deserted halls towards his dorm room. His eyes were running with tears as they struggled to flush out the terrible scene they had just viewed. The dead creature that had once been Pichu had been completely intact with the exception of his right paw. That could only mean one thing…

Marth silently lifted his aqua eyes as Roy burst through the door to their room. The redheaded warrior breathed a heavy sigh of relief upon finding Marth safe. The prince was seated on the bed in his tunic and leggings and with the hem of his shirt he was polishing his sword. Marth opened his mouth to question his friend but he was startled silent as Roy caught him up in a strong embrace.

"You're all right," Roy whispered as he hugged Marth tightly. He was afraid that his prince would slip away if he didn't hang on. "Of course I'm all right," Marth calmly replied, looking down at his friend in confusion. Roy was in a cold sweat; his eyes were dilated in fear. "Marth, something terrible is going on," he choked out, "and we have to go see Mario right away!"

Marth didn't have a chance to argue. Roy pulled him up and rushed him out of the dorm room before he could say a word. The warm blade of Falchion rested on the edge of Marth's bed, it's secret very well-kept.

--

Mario sat on his bed, sighing to himself as his head rested in his chubby little hands. Oy, it had been a hell of a day. Nintendo Security had been in and out of the House all afternoon asking relentless questions of the Smashers. They had scared the children and had gotten the adults – particularly the villains – riled up over this murder. Every one of the Melee members had a solid alibi: they had all been battling at the time of Pichu's murder.

Every Smasher but one.

Mario had no reason to disbelieve Marth's claims. The prince said that he was in his room polishing his sword at that time in the morning. His alibi was plausible, since Marth was such a stickler for cleanliness, but he had no witnesses. The outdoor cameras had picked up no intruder, so who else could have done it?

It was nearing nine o'clock and Mario still hadn't eaten dinner. The portly plumber lifted his head and groaned, his stomach echoing with a grumbling chorus. He stood, placing his cap over his thinning hair, and wearily trudged out of his room and down the hall. 

When things like these happened in the House, the curfew for all Smashers was eight thirty. The entire house was dark and Mario found his way only by memory. A right at the end of the hall, then a quick left, and the kitchen was the third door on the right. The windowless room was pitch-black this late at night and the plumber couldn't see a thing. Thus, it was no surprise that he tripped over something in his way and landed face-first on the floor. Mr. Nintendo grumbled as he picked himself up off the floor and fumbled along the wall for a light switch. Presently, the room was flooded with bright light and the entire area before Mario was bathed in crimson.

Mario felt his breath catch in his throat as the gory murder scene flooded his mind with images of horror. There was not a single inch of the whitewashed kitchen that wasn't splattered with thick red blood. Whatever creature had been killed must have been very large because of the profuse amounts of gore. It was everywhere. The creature must have been killed a while ago, because most of the blood was already coagulated. The carnage and the shredded carcass that was pinned to the kitchen table with carving knives smelled of stale blood and fresh death.

Though he'd seen countless adventures and battled hundreds of foes, Mario couldn't hold it in. With a sickly groan, he leaned forward and gagged himself over the severed right hand of the former king of the jungle: Donkey Kong.

No, there's no connection between these nonhuman murders, I just didn't feel like killing off anyone besides Pichu and DK. Review! I always wait for three reviews before I even start working on the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

AIIE. What a long chapter! That's why it's so late; it took me forever! This one is a bit better, I'd say, than the last few. Okay, maybe just longer, but there's more action and reasoning in this one.

Now for some notes to my reviewers! To Thais, I know you liked the first chapter for the mushy stuff, but I don't see any in the near future. Just some yummy Marth/Roy treachery… To Houou, I'll give you a paper bag if you need to breathe into one. And, to Morias, thank you many times for your interest. Be assured that I'll be glued to your page, looking for part two! 

On with my story.

Weeks had passed since the first two murders and nothing had improved. Several more Smashers had fallen to the mysterious killer, among them Jigglypuff, Ness, and Yoshi. The remaining Smashers were restless and several talked about leaving the House until this mystery was solved. Everyone feared for their lives. 

Every warrior except one.

--

Though there was an impressive library in the Melee house, Doctor Mario had his own private library. His athenaeum was filled spine-to-spine with medical books. He had taken such painstaking measures so as to alphabetize his books by topic, too, and he currently had every book on hands laid out on his study table.

His head in his hands, Doctor Mario's bloodshot eyes scanned his medical books with wearied interest. Though he was tired of reading these books day in and day out for the past two weeks, he was determined to find the young Marth some medical help. The doctor was determined to help the young swordsman regain use of his hand and yet his books told him nothing of reviving the dead limb. 

"Have-a you found anything yet?" The doctor's 'other self', Mario, now stood over him. The calm leader of the House smiled down at the doctor, who now sadly shook his head. "There's nothing that can be done for him. I've gone through almost all of my books now and I haven't found a thing." The leader nodded grimly, turning away from his twin with a sigh. "Then I guess there's nothing we can do…

"Marth will have to go."

--

The Altean prince was alone in his dorm room that evening. Roy was off in his Melees while Marth quietly moped. He currently stood in the bathroom, cleaning a maiden's blood from his blade. He had his precious weapon leaning on the edge of the porcelain sink and he steadied it with his right arm; with his bare left hand he was wiping the gore off. He impassively stared down at his reflection with an empty sort of pent-up rage. 

The night Marth lost his hand was also the night that he died. When Marth woke up from his deep sleep that evening, he found Roy facedown on the infirmary bed, fast asleep. The sheets were stained with his blood and tears. Marth couldn't understand why Roy would be so upset and he lifted his arm to nudge his friend awake…

And that's when he saw it.

The moment Marth laid his eyes on his dead right wrist, he knew that his life was over. The Smash Brothers were flawless, elite warriors, and the loss of something as vital as his right hand proved virtually fatal to the swordsman. He knew of his sentence long before Doctor Mario had grimly delivered it to him: "I'm sorry, Marth, but you won't be able to fight anymore."

Oh, but how the good doctor was wrong! The mere loss of his right hand wouldn't keep Marth down; he knew that he could overcome this handicap. Lately, he'd learned to manipulate his divine blade with his left hand and he frequently exercised this talent in real world Melees with his defenseless comrades. He found that it was easy to overpower these dumb, susceptible creatures in a scenario where danger and death were very real.

In short, Marth had turned into a ruthless, heartless serial murderer. The prince's compassion had died along with his useless limb. The only time he ever let his anguish out was when he was with Roy. Roy was perhaps the only person who would ever see Marth smile or frown, laugh or cry again.

Depending on how long he lived, that is.

A knock at the door prompted Marth to exit the bathroom. He laid his sword on the bed before he went to the door. He slowly opened it and instinctively looked down to where the stout leader, Mario, stood. "Good evening-a, Marth," he cordially greeted his fellow warrior. "May I come in? I have something to talk to you about-a." Marth silently nodded, stepping aside to let the plumber in. "Have a seat, sir." He offered Mario a chair and took a seat on his own bed. Falchion was laid across his thighs and he began meticulously polishing and sharpening it.

"Marth, Doctor Mario and I have been putting our heads together to think of a way of helping you." Mario gulped, watching, wide-eyed, as Marth polished his weapon. The prince didn't even look up; he knew what was coming. "The doctor has gone through all of his medical books but he can't find a thing to help you, Marth. I'm very sorry."

Mario winced at the sound of stone on steel. Marth was leering at his guest from behind shocks of teal bangs. The plumber cleared his throat, squirming under that cold glare, and continued, "Now, you know the rules of the Melee House. No one but the Smashers lives here. Since the loss of your hand, you can no longer battle in Melees, tournaments, or anything of that sort. Because of that, and also because of the increasing security risk due to this rash of murders…" Mario trailed off as guilt tugged on his heartstrings. His gaze was cast to the floor. "I'm sorry, Marth, but I'm going to have to ask you to pack up and move out."

Silenced reigned between the two warriors. Marth was coldly staring straight into Mario's fear-stricken eyes. No one could tell what was going on behind those pained blue orbs. Marth slowly rose from the bed, gripping Falchion tightly in his left hand as he gradually approached and loomed over Mario. "_I knew it_," the plumber thought to himself, "_he's going to kill me_."

The tense moment was interrupted, though, by a cry from outside the door. "It's Zelda, she's been killed! Quick, someone find Mario!" "They're calling for me, I have to go!" Mario sighed with relief as he stood and practically ran to exit the room, but he never made it to the door.

With a strong thrust of his deadly weapon, Marth skewered Mario's head on Falchion's blade, piercing him through from spine to jaw. The plumber hadn't even cried out; he just hung lifeless on the weapon. The regal prince looked on apathetically as warm red blood stained the white carpets. "A pity," he murmured, "that I had to kill you so soon. Your hand probably won't even fit mine." Using his boot, Marth pried Mario's lifeless body from the blade and let it slump to the floor. The Altean lifted his sword high into the air, spraying blood on the walls, and brought it down to cleanly sever the plumber's white-gloved hand. He stooped to pick up the hand and, as he had all the others, he placed it against his wrist. No, the hand wouldn't fit his. Zelda had been a closer match than this one.

Disgusted, Marth tossed the dead hand back onto Mario's body. He went back into his bathroom to clean Falchion again and he shortly returned to his seat on the bed. Methodically, he began sharpening his only weapon, readying it for its next kill.

Perhaps this merits some explanation. Why would Marth kill friggin' Pichu and Jigglypuff, who don't even HAVE hands, in his search for a new one? Because he's snapped, that's why! Read and review, please.


	5. Chapter 5

Woo hoo! I didn't even wait for three reviews this time 'cause I was excited about this chapter! I need reviews this time though, folks, and you'll see why when you read! 

The father of the Nintendo family had disappeared. No one knew what happened to Mario but he hadn't been seen since before Zelda's murder. It was like he had vanished into thin air, disappeared without a trace. Though they were paranoid and mistrusting, the Smashers knew that Mario couldn't be the murderer; rather, perhaps he, too, had fallen victim to the serial killer. 

After Mario's disappearance, the rash of murders had continued. Only a few Smashers remained, among them Doctor Mario, Link and Young Link, Kirby, Popo, Fox and Falco, Ganondorf, Pikachu, Samus, Marth and Roy. These few remaining warriors feared for their very lives. This misadventure was something straight out of a mystery or horror movie! The Smashers were dropping like flies, one by one, and no one knew who the killer was. They would leave the Melee House but there was just one problem: Mario had put the house on lockdown after Pichu's murder. He was the only one who knew how to open the heavy metal doors. He was now missing, presumed dead.

For the Smashers, there was no way out of this hell.

--

Samus was perhaps one of the few Smashers who didn't hide in her room during these troubled times. She wasn't able to stand the thought of being in her room for very long and so she made frequent visits to the kitchen, the entertainment room, and the library. The Metroid warrior was currently sitting in one of the large velvet armchairs in the library. She pried her attention away from her book on tactical maneuvers when she heard something from behind the couch.

It wasn't guilt but self-pity that drove Marth to tears. He had come into the library and opened the many medical books on hands only to find nothing that could help him. Was the prince doomed to imperfection forever? The thought of it just made him break down into tears. His head in his hands, Marth was quietly sobbing to himself when he heard a deep feminine voice from above him.

"Marth? Is that you, Marth?" The prince lifted his tear-streaked face up to see that Samus was leaning over the couch to get a look at him. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as she slid off of the couch and went around it to join him. Samus was a hardened warrior, it's true, but she was still a woman beneath that yellow Super Suit. She was naturally kind and comforting and she had a soft spot for friends who were sad. Samus went around behind the couch and sat near Marth to offer him what comfort she could. She would never hug him, but she got as close as she could comfortably get.

Samus immediately noticed the medical books spread out over the floor and she sighed in sympathy. "I don't know how you must feel inside, Marth. I've never had anything like that happen to me. I barely ever get bruised when I fight in my Super Suit." Marth looked at Samus with such sadness in his eyes and yet he said nothing. The female warrior sighed, whispering to him, "Don't be shy, Marth. Go on, just tell me how much it hurts."

Marth leaned in toward Samus and slowly, timidly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He leaned in so close to her that Samus was afraid he was about to kiss her, but he stopped just inches from her lips. His breath brushed over her skin and made her tingle, but the anguish in his eyes demanded her sympathies. He held her close for several minutes, tears constantly streaming down his cheeks.

Marth's voice wavered as he opened his mouth and struggled to speak. "I-it hur-rts this much." Samus' lavender eyes opened wide as she felt an abrupt stabbing pain in the back of her neck. Something was piercing into her skin. She opened her mouth to cry out but she was silenced as Marth forced his lips over hers, holding her in a forceful kiss.

At that moment, Doctor Mario was walking down the hall toward the kitchen. He just happened to peer into the library and he saw Marth and Samus hiding behind the couch, both of them wrapped up in a passionate liplock. He only saw Marth's backside from his vantagepoint. The good doctor sighed, politely turning his eyes away and moving on. How nice it must be to be in love...

Samus' pain lasted only a few more moments before she slumped against Marth, her warm lifeblood putting a vivid red stain on the front of his tunic.

--

In order to be safe, Roy preferred to stay in the dorm room during most of the day. He was terribly paranoid about the murders since he had been the one to find Pichu's dead body. The young warrior was always worried that he would be the next to die. 

Roy wasn't the only one who stayed close to home base, though. Link and Young Link were huddled in their room day in and day out. Kirby was seldom seen out in the halls and Doctor Mario was always locked up in the infirmary. Similarly, Roy had become a hermit and stayed in the dorm room. The only reason he ate was because Marth brought him food and drink.

Roy was normally lazy and he seldom cleaned anything; however, he was becoming so bored that he needed something to do! The warrior currently had on a T-shirt and his flame-patterned boxers while he dusted and cleaned the dorm room. Roy's boredom was only part of the reason for this cleaning spree, though. His other reason was the strange smell that hung in the room. There was a nauseating odor in the bedroom that frequently made Roy sick. He surmised that the smell was coming from Marth's side of the room, but that was strange; the prince was much too tidy and he never let something stink up the room.

Roy didn't feel uncomfortable about cleaning up Marth's side of the room. The prince would probably think it was a favor, right? He dusted off Marth's dresser and vanity and, as he neared the closet, the stench was getting stronger. It smelled like rotting meat and it was making Roy start to dry-heave. "_This is ridiculous!_" he thought, "_I have to take care of whatever he's keeping in his closet._"

Roy went to the closet and threw open the door to see just what Marth had inside. Marth's boots were lined up along the wall; his multicolored tunics, leggings, and chestplates were hanging on the racks. Roy followed them over to the capes and the shoulder armor… and then his eyes focused on the plastic bag.

There was a thick white plastic bag hanging in the right-hand corner of the closet. It obviously wasn't a suit bag because there were dark red stains on the inside of it and beneath it on the floor. Roy swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do. His trembling hands reached forward to slowly undo the zipper on the bag. Just as he had feared, as soon as he opened it, the dismembered body of Mario tumbled onto the floor, cold and coagulated and dead.

Roy yelped in surprise and backed away from the bloody corpse only to feel the kiss of a blade against the back of his neck. Marth stood behind his friend with a hard, unforgiving glare in his eyes. His porcelain features were splattered with vivid crimson blood, as was the blade of his sword. The same blade now held Roy frozen in place. 

Marth's tone was normal, soft and sad, as he said to his friend, "I'm very sorry, Roy, that you had to see this. I'm so very sorry…but now you've seen too much. Now you have to go."

Now, what does the audience want? There are no limits to the wants: a kill, a swordfight, or a good old-fashioned happy ending. Send me your suggestions please! And thanks to Morias and Spirit Dragon for their reviews to Chapter four.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter was COMPLETELY unplanned, yo'. It was just kinda like "whatever I write I write!" But I want to thank everyone who reviewed!

The Flame Panther: Heh, so sorry to kill everyone off, especially Samus. I'm a Samus fan, myself, and it was painful, but it had to be done.

Thais: There's much more than Roy-kissing in this chapter! On with the yaoi!!

Spirit Dragon: Another Samus fan? I feel your immense pain. It hurt, it really did…

Morias: You give me the longest reviews, man… I haven't really decided if Roy should die, not yet. Read this chapter and see what you think.

A warning here, too: there's yaoi here! It's mild, but it's there. Read at your own risk!

Roy swallowed hard, turning his head slightly to get a look at the mirror beside him. In it, he saw the reflection of himself, the helpless victim, being held at swordpoint by his friend and lover. "It's so unfortunate that it has to be like this," Marth murmured as he nicked the back of Roy's neck with the deadly blade, "but now I'm afraid that you'll have to be punished."

Roy gave a soft whimper of apprehension but Marth gently hushed him. "Close your eyes, Roy," he whispered, "and I promise it won't hurt for more than a second." The fire warrior did as he was told, tightly closing his lavender eyes as he waited for the pain. Why did he have to snoop around like that!? Would it cost him his life? He would die at Marth's hands, no less. "_How could you_?" Roy silently asked, tears welling in his eyes behind the sealed lids. "_Why, Marth? Why!?_"

Marth pulled back the blade and was about to go in for a kill but he stopped when he saw Roy's shoulders heave with a soft sob. A look of wonderment crossed Marth's stone-cold glare. The poor boy was scared, wasn't he? He made no move to strike back, either. Roy almost never hurt Marth, not even in their Melees together, and even when Roy cut off Marth's hand, it had been an accident. The hardened killer started to lose his poise as something crossed his mind.

Roy's benevolence would be his downfall.

The silence was driving Roy mad. His pulse was pounding in his ears and sweat was pouring down his face. Was Marth waiting for his body to self-destruct from worry? "What are you waiting for!?" Roy asked impatiently. He clenched his fists at his sides, lowering his head a bit as he started to tremble. "Do it, Marth! Don't keep me waiting." 

"I won't." Roy was startled to hear Marth's voice in front of him and, before he could open his eyes, he felt Marth's lips forced over his. The monarch had his arms around his partner and, with them, Falchion's deadly blade. After several tense minutes, Marth broke the kiss and glared down into Roy's eyes. "You feel guilty," he sneered, "and rightly so! If it wasn't for your stupidity and your blind rage, then I wouldn't be deformed now!" 

Marth brought his blade around and thrust it up beneath Roy's chin, making him tilt his head back. The motion gave him only a scratch but quite a scare. Those tears had since spilled over Roy's cheeks and they now mingled with his blood before they dripped down the blade. "Don't start blubbering," Marth snarled. He now brought the blade against Roy's collarbone and tore it down the length of his body. His expert swordplay didn't shear a hair from Roy's skin; he merely slit a line down his shirt and pants. "Prove to me that your life is worth something to me."

--

Hours later, Roy was still crying for fear and for shame. The nude warrior was trembling as he sobbed into his pillows. He was lying on his stomach because his backside hurt too much. His shoulders were cut open by the bite of a blade and his rear… Well…

Marth was sitting on the edge of the bed with his bloodied blade across his knees. "Because of you," he growled, "my plan is ruined. Now I have to finish off the rest of these miserable warriors quickly and get out of here as soon as I can." Marth stood and suited up in his black-and-gold armor, lastly pulling on his black gloves. The right glove had been tailored to cover and partially hide his right wrist. He shook with rage as he beheld his deformity and he now turned toward Roy, fresh rage in his eyes. He grabbed Roy by the hair and pulled his head back. When the boy cried out, Marth shoved his stump into his mouth and practically attempted to jam it down his throat.

"If I'm in a good mood by the time I get back," Marth growled to him, "then you will be spared. Do you hear me?" He shook Roy violently, pulling roughly on his hair and pushing his arm farther down Roy's throat. "Your life is subject to my whim!" When he felt as though he'd sufficiently terrorized his victim, Marth detached himself from Roy's head and cuffed him across his cheek. The moody monarch now turned away from Roy and, in a flourish of his dark cape, left.

When he was quite sure that Marth was gone, Roy tried to free himself and get out of the bed. He couldn't, though; Marth had put a black leather collar around Roy's neck and attached that to something heavy that stood behind the headboard. Roy couldn't reach it if he tried. 

His pain made him groan, collapsing back against the mattress. The fiery warrior helplessly sobbed into the pillows, clenching his fists. This was exactly what had happened to Tomoyuki! Now, Roy's once loving friend had completely turned against him and had become his enemy. The mild-mannered Marth had now chained Roy up to his own bed with a dog chain and a collar that had the title "Slut" embroidered in it.

Oooh, a little cruel, ne? Read and review while I think of what should happen next!


	7. Chapter 7

Sheez, what a week this has been! First finals, then new classes started, and the icing on the cake was the fact that Lemonade got ripped off FF.net! That was really a blessing in disguise, though, since I was sick of updating that one. I kinda wish I knew what rule I violated, though…

So here's chapter seven! I'm not sure if "Titleless" will end with this chapter or not. I think I'll add one more which may give many of you readers a glimmer of hope. Thank you for your reviews, by the way!

****

Ron, thanks for reading. I know yaoi ain't your style, but I don't think I have any in this chapter. No need to hide your eyes. **Boethas**, I understand your craving for happy endings, but remember that it isn't over yet! You may get a happy one in the future. **Turquoisefox**, I did imply the r-word. Geez, can I say it in a PG 13 fic? I'm all paranoid since the other one got pulled off. But yes, it's implied. I'm sick, I go for that kinda stuff. **Morias**, as always, glad you like! You seem to be my biggest and perhaps only fan at the moment. Hope this chapter satisfies your craving for suspense and the longer the reviews, the better.

On with the chapter!

Though everyone was upset over the murders, Popo was perhaps the saddest Smasher of them all. He was terribly lonely without his partner and best friend, Nana. She had died at the blade of the serial killer many weeks ago. Her death meant that Popo now had no one to talk to, no one to laugh with, no one to eat with, and no one to do his laundry.

Lugging a basket much larger than he, the little Ice Climber made his way down the flight of steps toward the basement. It was set up somewhat like a Laundromat down there and there were rows of washers and dryers set up at every wall. Marth was apparently busy doing his laundry, too, because he didn't greet Popo as he rushed past, even after the Ice Climber chirped a hopeful "hello." It was funny, he thought, that the Fire Emblem warrior should be wearing his full armor and lugging his sword around at this time of the day, especially since all Melees had been canceled.

Popo and Marth passed each other without incident, and the little Smasher went down to the closed door of the laundry room. My, was it hot down here! He lifted one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow as his other hand went for the doorknob of the laundry room. He struggled to balance his basket with one hand as he turned the knob with the other. Popo didn't notice the misty smoke withdrawing under the crack of the door. 

Without thinking, he pulled on the warm knob and yanked the door open. A wall of fire threw him back into the staircase at a spine-snapping angle. It was a backdraft. Popo was stunned, pain screaming through his body. Dear God, had he snapped his spine?! The Ice Climber struggled to lift his broken body up but it was hopeless. The encroaching flames came over him and he yelped out in pain as the biting, angry fire consumed his body.

--

"Hit me." Oh, that was so tempting. Falco desperately wanted to reach over the table and strike the Starfox leader across his furry muzzle, but he restrained himself. He flicked a card across the table and Fox quickly snatched it up, grinning. 

"Twenty," he murmured as he spread his cards on the table. Falco winced in pain and pounded his feathered fist on the table. "Damn it, you're cheating, McCloud!" "I prefer to call it luck," the fox smirked. "Now come on, pay up. You owe me two hundred now." "No chance, this game isn't over yet!" Falco was obstinate and he refused to lose to Fox. He dealt him another hand. 

The two sat in silence at the card table, shrouded in a thin veil of smoke. That was odd; neither of them had any cigarettes lit. Fox's nose tickled at the scent of the smoke, though, and Falco's eyes were burning. They exchanged silent glances and slowly put down their cards. Was something on fire?

Rubbing at his tearing eyes, Falco went to the dorm room door to go out and see what was wrong, but his feathered fingers could only turn the knob so far. He gulped, turning back to Fox with a wide-eyed stare.

"I-it's locked," he stammered, "from the outside."

--

Roy felt like a pig on a spit. It was roasting in the bedroom for some reason and, even though he was naked, he felt unbearably hot. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and was now trickling down the sides of his face. Had Marth turned the thermostat up? The fire warrior groaned as he struggled to roll onto his back. His torn muscles ached from the strain and he nearly broke his neck with the collar and chain, but he succeeded in his efforts after a bit of a struggle. 

That's when he noticed…

Roy's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he saw the smoke pushing through the crack beneath the dorm room door. Panic immediately consumed him. Something was burning! He twisted and turned and wrestled against his bonds, but it was useless. His arms were too sore to be able to wrench his neck free from the collar. He was stuck! "Fire, fire!" Roy yelped, "Someone get me out of here!!"

Even as the flames ate through the door, Roy continued to cry out and to struggle. "Someone, please! Help me, I'm stuck!" After several minutes of yelling, though, it became obvious that there was no one left to come to his aid. With a cry of determination, Roy strained to sit up and attempted to break the collar around his neck, but all he managed to do was throttle himself. The fiery warrior fell back against the mattress, panting, as the flames crept closer.

The bed sheets blackened and turned to ash as the weakening bed frame groaned under the strain of supporting Roy's weight. He closed his eyes and cried out as he felt the fire licking at his arms. "_Please, gods, don't let it fall, I'll burn to death!_" Just as he began pleading with the higher powers, though, one of the bed's legs gave out, followed by a second and a third. The greedy, gluttonous fire now swept over him like a suffocating blanket.

Silhouetted against the chilly winter sunset, Marth grinned as he heard the final cry of death from inside the inferno at the Melee House. The wail of sirens announced the arrival of the fire companies and his cue for departure. "Good night, my fair friends, my dear Roy," he whispered. "Sleep well and rest in peace." Marth bowed his head for a moment of respect before turning away and strolling off into the dusk.

I'm not going to get set on fire too, am I? I haven't yet posted that the fic is yet finished because, well, it isn't. I think it merits one more chapter to tie up some loose ends. What loose ends, you ask? Oh, you'll find out. Review, please!


	8. Chapter 8

Ah, the final chapter to this grim little story. Didn't bother waiting for many reviews, 'cause I was intent on finishing this one and getting it out of the way. A large thanks to Morias for her review and all of her reviews. I hope you enjoy this ending. Not surprised that you're the only reviewer, though, since I've upped all my ratings to R. Just out of paranoia, I guess. I don't want another FF.net TOS…. Sheez, that sounds pathetic.

A cruel smile played over Tomoyuki's lips as he surveyed the damage that Marth had done. The Melee House had been reduced to little more than a smoldering pile of ash thanks to the rampant psycho. Somewhere beneath the ruin lay the mage's adversary, Roy, now scalded and burnt and dead. The mental image of Roy's corpse struck Tomoyuki as amusing and he tilted his head back as he laughed. 

"Roy, you silly fool!" he chuckled, turning his face to the ominous gray sky. "I knew you were coward, but I didn't know you were fool enough to fall by the work of your closest friend. The very fires you had been trained to tame have eaten you alive! A pathetic end, indeed."

Tomoyuki leaned from his rooftop perch to spit onto the ash pile that was Roy's grave. "Rest in pieces, you bastard," he growled as he turned away and vanished into the dwindling twilight.

--

The first thing Roy noticed about death was the absence of pain. Yes, he felt nothing, not even the choking of his collar anymore. There was something comforting and warm about the atmosphere around him, but at the same time, it was almost smothering. The pungent scent of smoke filled his nostrils as he drew a deep breath. Perhaps, even in death, he would reek of the flames that had consumed him.

Roy was curled in the fetal position and he lay on his side, smiling as he gradually awoke from his deep slumber. He didn't want to open his eyes. No, he wanted to linger in suspense. What, exactly, did the afterlife look like? Would his friends and family be there? Was there really a God? The fiery-haired warrior was just about to wet his appetite for curiosity when he felt something cold and wet hit his cheek. He opened his eyes, groaning in disgust as he wiped the glob off of his cheek. "_Yuck!_" It looked like it was spit.

When his repugnance faded, Roy lifted his eyes to survey his celestial surroundings. Funny, this place sure was dark. Could it be Hell? The swordsman tried to get up but when he did, he whacked his head off of the low ceiling above him. The shock of pain that made him yelp was what really woke him up. He hadn't died? Roy was still alive? He crouched on the bed and looked around at the black cavern he seemed to be stuck in. He wasn't trapped in the bowels of the Underworld, only in his demolished dorm room! The furniture had been scorched and burned beyond recognition and all of his and Marth's possessions were destroyed. The only recognizable thing in the blackened room was the Sword of Seals, whose spotless blade was embedded in the weakened floor.

Realization struck him harder than the ceiling had. Of course! Roy and his precious weapon were immune to the fires that had ravaged and destroyed the Melee House. The swordsman had trained for years to be able to tolerate those scorching flames and whatever enchantment had been placed on the sword long ago insulated it, too, against the raging inferno. The Sword of Seals had remained completely stainless and it shined even more brilliantly than before. In addition, Roy's collar had been burned right off of his neck, but his skin was flawless.

Roy rose from the bed and crawled through the cramped room toward his beloved sword. Determination was written across his scowling face. The Marth who had done this to him and the rest of the Smashers wasn't the Marth he had once known and loved. No, that Marth had died. This Marth was a new and treacherous villain, one that only Roy could stop. Grasping the hilt of the Sword of Seals in his hand, Roy wrenched the magnificent weapon out of the floor. He lifted it up above his head and thrust it into the ceiling, cutting right through the thin layer of debris and letting fresh twilight filter into the room. Tears spilled over his cheeks as he made his silent resolve: to make Marth pay for the lives he had taken.

Well, after he got dressed, of course.

And the moral of the story is: never trust the author. Look for the final part of this trilogy as soon as I think up another title with the "-less" theme to it. Read and review!


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